Chapter 17
Seventeen
Matthew hung up the phone and shoved it into his back pocket. With the finishing touches nearly done on the mural, he had a free afternoon. He was kicking himself for not thinking to talk Whitney into doing both lunch today, and the thing tomorrow night.
Then again, that may have seemed too eager.
Do I really care if she knows I’m eager?
He dipped his brush back in the paint and swept one continuous line along the bottom of the cloud in the sky, giving it a bit more dimension. What’s wrong with being eager, anyway?
He didn’t like a bunch of drama and games. He wanted everything to be transparent. Say what you mean and just be happy with what you get.
Matthew climbed down the scaffold and eyeballed the mural. Never trusting his eyes, he took pictures from several angles and then went and sat on a paint bucket to zoom in on different areas to catch what he might have missed.
Happy with the results, he walked over and signed the wall.
“Done.”
He got into his truck and moved it as close as he could to load everything. Disassembling the lightweight aluminum planks from overhead, he repeated the process until he got to the ground.
The good thing about doing it yourself was you knew it got done right. It took time to get it all taken apart, stacked, lowered, and ready to load.
He’d just finished loading the last of the planks when he heard something behind him.
He ignored it at first, but when it didn’t stop, he turned and realized the popping was actually someone clapping in a slow, steady beat. It was Whitney.
Pulling his earbuds out, he waved. “Hey there.”
“It’s finished!”
“It is. This is a nice surprise.” He walked over and gave her a quick hug. “Sorry, am I sweaty?”
“No. Well, yes, but you’re fine.”
He held his hand up toward the wall. “I think it’s a lot prettier than the crumbling, painted brick. What do you think?”
“So much better. I think I’m going to enjoy walking this way a lot more often now.”
“That’s good. You know I live in this direction.”
“I’ve heard.” She held a bag in her left hand. She looked hesitant. “It occurred to me you invited me to lunch, and I never really answered you, so I brought enough for two… in case you haven’t eaten yet.”
“I’m famished.” He looked at the bed of his truck loaded to the hilt. “I was going to run this to storage at my place. You wouldn’t have time to ride with me, and we could eat there, would you?”
“I have a little over an hour at my disposal. Is that enough time?”
“Plenty. I’m just going to pull this in the storage bay loaded, so it’ll be ready for the next job.” He walked around to the passenger side and moved his laptop and a stack of papers from the seat. “It’s usually neater than this.”
He helped her into the truck. “Actually, maybe it’s never neater.” He shook his head, lowering his eyes. “It’s a work truck. Don’t know why I said that.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “A cluttered truck is perfectly acceptable.”
He got in and drove down a few blocks, pulling around to the back of his building. Three garage doors and a loading dock lined the back wall of the building.
Matthew pressed a clicker clipped to his sun visor and one door slowly lifted.
“I didn’t even know this was back here.”
“You can find hidden secrets all over this city. I personally think a garage is a real treasure, especially for someone like me who needs some warehouse space. The key is to know where to search.”
The lights flickered inside the garage, exposing diamond-plated chrome cabinets on the walls and metal shelving holding as many cans, maybe more, than the local mom-and-pop hardware store. One-gallon and five-gallon pails in a rainbow of colors from paint drips down the sides crowded the shelves. He pulled the truck inside and pushed the button to lower the garage door.
She climbed out of the cab. “Do you need any of this stuff?”
“Just my laptop.” He met her in front of the truck and took the lunch bag and the computer. “After you.”
They walked down the hall and then he moved ahead to catch the elevator door before it closed. They got in, and he held a fob up to the elevator panel, then pressed the button to the top floor.
He glanced over at her and smiled.
“The penthouse?”
“Not that fancy,” he said. “Just on the top.”
“Location is everything,” she reminded him. The elevator came to a stop with a chugging lurch, and the doors opened. “Wow. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.” She didn’t wait for him, walking straight into the middle of his studio. Several paintings were in various stages of completion. White boards on an interior wall held sketches and clipboards with what looked like work orders on them. Most of the space was windows. She stopped at a beautiful painting in an awkward state of completion. One whole side was empty, the rest a breathtaking landscape that seemed perfect.
“You like that?”
“Is it done?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know that it ever will be finished. Or maybe it is.” He stared at it, as if looking for answers that weren’t there. “I started this painting years ago. I just can’t finish it for some reason. No idea why.”
“I never really considered that could happen. It’s either your perception of something you see, or something you’re making up. Seems so straightforward, but it’s not like that, is it?”
“Is anything?” He didn’t wait for a response. “It’s emotion. It’s something inside that you can’t explain. Maybe not for every artist, but for me, that’s how it is. There are a variety of intangibles within that painting the person looking at it may enjoy, but never understand.”
“That’s really special.” She stood there quietly for an awkwardly long moment, then turned and caught the beauty of the city. “The view here is breathtaking, and it’s so bright.”
“The view is my favorite part too.” He walked toward the windows. “You can’t beat the light up here.”
Buckets of paint brushes lined one of the window sills. Canvases stacked like giant decks of cards leaned against the walls. His life’s work was here.
“How did you ever find this place?”
He looked at his watch. “Long story, and you’ve got less than an hour now.”
“Fine. I’m holding you to telling me. Tomorrow night. Okay?”
“Sure.” He started toward the left side of the apartment. “Come on. The kitchen is down here. What can I get you to drink?”
“Just water.”
She followed him through the space, stopping to look at the artwork and the interesting antique furniture pieces that held some of it.
He wondered what she thought of the kitchen. It was simple, all stainless steel and wood. A huge pot rack hung over the island.
She stared at the pot rack. “Okay, you have more pots hanging than I own in total. Look at all the crocks of spoons and spatulas. You really do cook.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“This is nice.” She ran her hands across the cobalt blue enamel of the gas range. “Is this an antique?”
“No. It’s just meant to look like one.”
The subzero, glass front refrigerator was orderly. Sodas, waters, a couple of beers, and rows of salads in canning jars that looked pretty enough to be in a restaurant display, ready for takeout. Bright red tomatoes and green cucumbers on the next shelf, and then some boxed items below that.
“Okay, I feel chintzy bringing you a turkey sandwich with all that fresh food in your refrigerator.”
“Don’t be silly. I love turkey.” He took two glasses from a cabinet and filled them with ice and water. “We can eat in the other room.”
A square table with four comfortable armchairs around it was void of anything, not even a centerpiece or speck of dust.
Matthew set down the glasses, then got napkins, salt and pepper, and silverware and set them on the table.
Whitney unpacked the bag and handed him a sandwich.
“This was a nice surprise,” he said. “Looks good.”
“It’s my favorite lunch. Turkey, avocado, cucumber, tomato, and onion. I hope you don’t mind the onion.”
“As long as we’re both having them, it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“I suppose not.” She blushed as she lowered her chin to pick up her sandwich. But he hadn’t missed it—it was cute. “How long have you lived here?”
He looked around. “Off and on a long, long time. My dad and I lived here when I was a kid. After Mom left. It was an apartment building back then. He did a lot of the rehab on these old buildings. He loved the view from this one the best.”
“I can see why.” She took a bite of her sandwich.
“Dad bought the front apartment up there overlooking the James when I was a teenager. Back then, there was a department store on the first level. That’s why there are the loading docks and garages.”
“This is that old building? They call it the Harper Building, right?”
“Yep. Used to.”
“Yes. I’m a local too.” She shook her head in amazement. “How have we never met before?”
“No idea. It’s strange, isn’t it?”
“I guess everything has its time.”
“Yeah, and after Dad’s fall and the complications following, this place felt like home to me. Over the years I bought each apartment as it became available until I owned them all. Then I converted the top floor into my studio space.”
“It’s lovely. Family is important to you, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s everything. I just don’t have any left.”
“Well, you’ll build your own one day, assuming you want to get married and have children of your own.”
“I hope to.” He could see that with someone like her.
She looked like she was thinking about something, but he held back the temptation to ask what it was.
“You know,” she finally said, “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
“Anything. Shoot.” He sat waiting, and she looked hesitant.
“My niece will be two this summer.”
“Carina’s daughter?”
“Mmhmm. My only niece. I’ve been racking my brain trying to come up with the perfect gift. I know she’s only two, but I want it to be special. You know, something lasting and memorable.”
“Cool. I get it. What were you thinking?”
“I thought you would understand. So here’s my idea, and you can totally say no. I hope this doesn’t offend you. Is there any way, and I know you’re super busy and have important things going on, but could I pay you to paint a mural in Chloe’s playroom?” She gritted her teeth, looking almost sorry that she’d asked.
He could picture working with her on the project and couldn’t think of a better way to spend his time. He loved the idea. He looked her squarely in the eyes and said, “No.”
Surprise registered on her face. “Oh, okay,” she said apologetically. “I know it was a big ask. Just forget I ever said anything.”
“I’d love to paint that mural for your niece, but I won’t allow you to pay me for it.”
“No. Matthew, your work is your career. I have to pay you. Everything has a price and your time is worth something.”
“You’re right. My time has value.” He thought about it for a second. “And I’d like to spend more of it with you, so I’ll do your mural for you, but with your help.”
“What?” she sputtered. “Are you crazy? I can’t paint. I can’t even draw a stick figure.”
“You don’t need to. I’m sure you’ve done a paint-by-numbers before.”
“Who hasn’t? I might even still have my Misty of Chincoteague poster on black velvet that I painted in the sixth grade somewhere in the attic at Mom and Dad’s.”
“I’ll draw it, and I’ll guide you on what to paint. Believe me, you can do this, and—” he held up his finger, asking her to hang on because he could already tell she was getting ready to argue. “And it will mean a thousand times more to Chloe if she knows that her Aunt Whitney painted it with me.”
She put her elbow on the table and pressed her hand to her cheek, nearly sulking, and even that was endearing.
“We’ll have fun.” He touched her arm. “Come on. Let’s do this together.”
She hesitated.
“I’m not asking you to jump out of an airplane.” He held his hand up, using an imaginary paintbrush to draw a tree in the air. “Just hold a paintbrush.”
“I don’t think it’s going to mean more to her if I help. It’s going to be cool, and that’s what she’ll love about it.”
“It’ll mean more to me,” he said. “I’d like to spend that creative time with you.”
She bit down on her lower lip, smiling but struggling with not getting her way, probably something that didn’t happen very often. “You better not let me mess it up.”
“I won’t. I’ll be your training wheels, your eraser, your whatever you need me to be.”
She took in a slow breath. “It’ll be an awesome gift.”
“I assure you it will be. Now tell me what you have in mind.”
“Something whimsical. A girly, princess kind of tree house, with birds and bunnies, but in a way she can grow up with for a while. She’s only two. So it would be cool if we could make it last until her school years.”
He nodded. “We could even include something with a growth chart on it. That way your brother and sister-in-law could pencil in the height and dates. That’s always kind of cool. If you go look inside the closet door in the front in my studio, that was part of what was Dad’s place. You can still see the notches where he’d carved a line with his pocket knife every time he measured me. I was almost as tall as him the last time he measured me.”
“I love that tradition. We need to include that for sure.”
“You’re going to be a great helper. When can we get in there to measure? And I’ll want to see the light.”
“Let me talk to William. I’d love it if we could surprise Carina too. William could help me make that happen. They have a nanny, and I can totally pile work on Carina for a few days.”
“You’re ruthless when you have a plan,” he teased. “To keep you from exhausting Carina in trying to surprise her, another option would be for us to create the design on a smaller canvas, and then I can have it turned into a poster we can apply like wallpaper. That way, we could hang it in a few hours. There’s a benefit to that too. It won’t be a pain to paint over when she outgrows it, or they could take it with them if they move.”
“That’s brilliant!” She thought about it for a moment, then said, “If we do it that way, I don’t have to paint either.”
“Oh, you still have to help. It’ll just be a much smaller version.”
“Okay. Fine. A deal is a deal.”
They finished their sandwiches, and Matthew got up. “We have a few more minutes. Let me show you around the place.”
He took her into his living space: the living room, a den, and his bedroom.
“I love this space. It’s nice. Did you decorate it yourself?”
“If you can call it decorating. It’s more stuff I like. I try to keep as little as possible so I don’t have as much to clean up. It works for me.”
“Good plan.” She pointed to the French doors at the end of the living room. “You have a patio up here?”
“It would be really hard to grill out if I didn’t have one. It’s small, but it does the trick. I have an outdoor kitchen with a sink, wine fridge, smoker, and a grill.”
“Nice. Can I peek?”
“Sure.”
She walked outside. “Wow, this isn’t just a grill, it really is an outdoor kitchen.” She walked over and opened the wine fridge. “Well done.” She pointed to the corner. “What’s that under the cover? A patio heater?”
“No, but I like that idea. It’s a telescope. If there’s a meteor shower in the forecast, I’ll be out here all night long.”
“I’d love to see that. You really have a telescope?”
“I do. You’ll have to join me one night.”
“I’d like that.”
“We better get you back, or you’ll be late.”
“That went fast.” She looked disappointed, and he felt the same way.
He led her back through the studio to the elevator, and they took it down to the first floor. Walking toward the front door, she said, “You don’t have to take me back. I can walk from here.”
“Now that wouldn’t be very nice. Besides, I’m done for the day. I could walk with you, if you don’t mind.”
“I’d like that.”
Matthew couldn’t gethis mind off Whitney that night. It was nice having her in his space, and she seemed to like it. Every time he thought of her blushing over the onions on those sandwiches, it made him laugh. It was sweet. Here they were, grown adults, and he felt like he was a college kid again. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. He’d never felt this entranced by someone he’d just met in his whole life.
He could get used to this feeling.
He clicked through television shows, tried to read, dabbled with a painting, and finally went and sat outside and looked at the night sky. It wasn’t easy to see a lot of stars in the city, but with the high-powered telescope, it helped. One day, he’d buy a cabin on the top of a mountain just for such occasions.
The next morning, he went through his mail and made a list of everyone he needed to follow up with. A pile of them had stacked up while he’d been working on the mural.
He pulled up the newspaper article written about the mural he’d painted in Portland, Oregon. Over the years, he’d gotten pretty good at supplying pictures and enough details for the newspapers and online media to pick up the stories. Keeping his name out there was as important as the actual painting.
It was weird, though, how sometimes it was harder to get attention in your own hometown. It was like pulling teeth to get them to accept an article or announcement from him. He crafted a quick email mentioning the young artist he’d brought onboard by name, and details about his mission to refresh cities with art like this mural on the old Foster building. Hopefully, it was just enough to entice the curiosity of someone to run with the story.
He didn’t do much on social media himself. He’d hired a marketing student to help out with that. He felt bad for Whitney. She was so stressed by her situation. Hopefully, it would blow over quickly.
Matthew put on his gym shorts and walked down to the gym to pound out a few miles on the treadmill and then hit the weights. He’d have time to get back to the apartment and take a shower and a quick catnap before going to pick up Whitney.
When he walked inside the building, he heard a low whistle from the desk. He stopped and walked backward. “What are you doing working the day shift, Jack?”
“Mr. Jessup is sick in bed with something. I’m pulling doubles until he’s back on his feet.”
“That’s some long hours. You okay?”
“Nothing to it. Now you, on the other hand, might I ask if you are okay?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Saw that pretty woman you snuck in through the garage yesterday. You hiding her up there?”
He dropped his head back. “No, Jack. She was only here for lunch, but then you probably know that since you’ve got the cameras right there in front of you.”
“Yeah. That’s true. Can’t believe you let a woman so fine slip away so fast,” Jack said, his chest puffing up. “When I was your age?—”
“She’s a nice lady,” Matthew said. “I was respectful.”
“You can flirt respectfully. You know, show a little interest.” Jack winked. “I liked her on first sight. Gonna see her again? Or did you blow it already?”
Banter with Jack was always amusing, but the old man had good advice. “I’ll have you know I’m seeing her tonight, not that it’s any of your business,” he added.
“Hmmph. You, boy, are my business. I told your daddy I’d watch over you. I’d never let a friend down.” Jack was dead serious, too, but then he let out a hearty laugh. “About time you got a woman to share all that space with you. I’m tired of defending your honor when people talk about the grumpy hermit on the top floor.”
“Well, they have to have something to talk about.”
“Good luck with her,” Jack said. “If you need some tips, call me. I’m an expert with the ladies.”
Matthew had to admit the old man still had swagger. Women were always stopping in to bring Jack a casserole or visit in hopes of a little of his time. He’d been widowed longer than Matthew had been alive. He doubted Jack had any idea what good dating etiquette was in this decade, but then again, some things never went out of style.
“I’ll keep you posted, old man.” It was a term of endearment, and his friendship with Jack, although full of banter and sometimes boisterous, was a special one.